


Dancing For Victory

by Johnny_Law



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 14:53:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7578400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johnny_Law/pseuds/Johnny_Law
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before the feast, Allura has called for a dance. A followup to Dressing For Victory: http://archiveofourown.org/works/7187021</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dancing For Victory

**Author's Note:**

> A follow up to Dressing For Victory: http://archiveofourown.org/works/7187021

The Paladins had gathered in a great hall. According to Coran, in older times it had been an area for the wining and dining of visiting diplomats and honoured guests. It could fit over a thousand guests, with platforms for musicians to entertain, to provide a pleasant atmosphere and music to dance to. It had hosted visitors from a thousand systems, rulers and scientists, artists and warriors of all shapes and sizes. It had been gilded in skilled artifice, craftsmanship rendered by the skilled hands, paws and other appendages of the greatest artisans that could be drafted from across the universe. It had been the jewel in the crown that was the Castle of Lions. 

That had been then, this was now. 

It was empty, bare of any kind of ornamentation, an abandoned stadium, the flat plane stretched out empty in an uncomfortable distance around the paladins. Pidge stared up at the high roof, the gold shards of crystal projecting light enough to fill the other wise cold, grey stadium with a pleasant warm glow. It didn’t do much to fill the empty space, but made it seem less a cold place. Like the ballroom of a once grand hotel fallen to disuse, as opposed to the barren remains of a fortress stripped of its wealth.

“So are we going to eat first or…?” Hunk plucked at his cravat, the yellow silk poking out from above his vest. The boys all wore high collared double breasted vests, white except at the seams, which were gilded in the colours of their lions. Red for Keith, yellow for Hunk, and blue for Lance. Under those vests they wore fine white shirts, cuffed at the wrist in their lion colours, and white trousers tucked neatly into black dress boots. The only one that was different was Shiro, whose vest was black trimmed in white and he wore a black dress shirt beneath, and Pidge herself.

She had decided to wear dress for the first time in what felt forever, a light dress of green, with a silver necklace to go with it. Around her shoulders she wore a light white shawl, buttoned beneath her neck, it was too short to be called a cloak or cape. The heeled shoes she just wasn’t used to, and every step threatened her with a wobble. But it wasn’t the dress, or the shoes, or the jewellery that made her feel a little exposed, it was the lack of glasses. She found her hand straying to the bridge of her nose unconsciously, a reflex that made her twitch the hand back to her side with an irritated little hiss. She didn’t even need to wear glasses, but she’d grown so used to having them on her face felt bare and exposed without them.

She looked the boys over and had to admit, they all looked pretty smart in the paladin formal dress. It was cut to figure.

Her eyes lingered over Shiro and she felt warmth in her cheeks, now that was a figure.

“It’s a whole lot of nothing,” Lance said, eyes sweeping over the hall, hands tucked into his pockets, falling into a slouch that creased his nice new set of clothes. Then his eyes lit up and he straightened, drawing out his hands to fuss with his cravat as Allura entered. “Alright, my mistake, there’s something,” he said with a dog-grin. It made Pidge roll her eyes with a soft 'ugh' of disgust.

Allura wore a dress of white, high collared, buttoned around her neck, her silver-blue hair tied back in a thick long plait, her dusky brow topped with a silver circlet fixed with gems, one each of blue, red, yellow, black and green. Around her waist she wore a thick black belt that sat comfortable upon her hips, set with white stones. The dress fell down almost to the floor, the sleeves over her wrists. Whenever she walked she moved with a grace that seemed a step away from becoming a dance.

Allura smiled for the paladins.

“I’m afraid the hall has seen better days,” she said, motioning to the empty chamber. Coran came behind her, as neatly dressed as any of the paladins, moustache finely groomed. He carried in his hands a small box, a miniature chest made of varnished red wood, engraved across the lid with Altean script. He set the box down, knelt beside it.

“I thought we could start our little celebration with a dance,” Allura said, hands clasped before her face, “Normally we would have real musicians, perhaps an Orgazi quintet or a small orchestra from Yuzhan, but we make do with what we have.” She nodded down to Coran.

“This is an Altean music box,” he said, “It contains a library of music from all across Altean history, from the last year of King Alfor down to the very dawn of our civilization. There’s Krugean hymns, Flaxon jig and reels, Malakador rock-“

Before he could give them a full run down on Altean musical history, Allura cut him off with a light clap. “I thought,” she said, “We could start with a simple waltz.”

Coran sighed. “A waltz it is, let’s go with the ‘Altean Spring’, it's a proper classic,” he opened the box, displaying what looked like five little golden eggs. With a gloved hand he twisted each like a nob until it was configured to his liking, then he pressed each one down.

The sound of music came floating out from the box, the strings of a violin like instrument, a brass section producing a beat. It sounded to Pidge almost 19th century European, Strauss or someone like that. Her dad had loved classic music. Her dad –did- love classic music.

She remembered the radio one morning, something like Chopin had been playing on it, and she had been bored, had gone to change the station while her father sat reading a paper over breakfast.

“What, you don’t like it?” he’d asked, looking up from his cup of coffee.

“I like music you can dance to,” she had said, and a smile had opened her dad’s face as he got up, set the coffee down.

“You can dance to this, its just a little different,” and he’d taken her by the hands.

A hand to her shoulder brought her out of her memory with a slight breath. She looked over her shoulder to Keith standing behind her.

“Pidge,” he said, “We’re meant to find partners, want to dance?” He went so far as to give her a gentlemanly bow. She looked over to see Allura with Hunk. For a big guy he was moving with her at a light step, timed to the music, gliding Allura across the floor around him, a big grin across his face and a sly look for the pair beside them.

“Just one foot before the other, Lance,” Shiro said, trying to guide Lance through the opening steps of the waltz. Lance’s eyes moved from Shiro to Allura and back, his movement distracted.

“Like this?” Lance’s foot found Shiro’s shin.

“N-not quite,” he said through a wince, “But you’re getting there. Just, pay attention.”

“Pidge,” Keith brought her eyes to his, his smile, “Don’t leave me standing here all night. Shall we dance?”

Pidge nodded, and put her hand into his. He came up from his bow, the other hand finding her shoulder, her other hand on his hip. He lead her through a light waltz with a practiced, steady air, light and graceful.

“You’ve done this before,” she said.

“Hmm, so have you,” he replied, and then he spun her with no effort at the the rising of the strings.

“My dad taught me, you?” she asked.

“School,” he said, they parted, she twirled. Twirling in the warm gold light, the vast empty chamber turning around her, she almost laughed for the high sweet joy that rose in her chest. They came back together, his hand steadying her by the shoulder. “Careful now,” he said, taking her through a switch-step. “Here’s the tricky part,” and then he dipped her , sweeping her almost entirely off her feet, her hair falling down, the necklace swinging like a pendulum behind her neck. And Pidge couldn’t help but laugh a flushed laugh as Keith brought her to her feet.

“That,” he said as the music settled, letting go of her hand but the other still on her shoulder, “Was fun.”

“Thanks for that,” she said, brushing back her hair, trying to lower the heat in her face and settle the grin that split it open.

“Any time, Pidge,” he said, moving away with a bow.

“Change partners!” Coran called from the music box.

Pidge turned with a spin, a clap of her hands, looking to Shiro as he approached.

“Katie,” he said with the flash of a smile, eyes warm, hand out, “I saw some of your dance with Keith, that was really good. Maybe you could-“

“I’d love to,” she said, reaching for his hand.

“Thanks, I can’t seem to teach him,” he said, stepping aside and motioning to Lance. He waited in a slouch, picking at the corner of his nose.

“Oh,” Pidge’s hand fell to her side.

“That’s not a problem, is it?” he asked, brow coming together in that painfully concerned way that made her heart thump.

She gave him a forced smile. “Not at all,” and she dipped a curtsy. His smile became a grin.

“Shall we dance, sir?” Allura said, a light hand to Shiro’s shoulder. His face lit up in a way that broke Pidge’s heart. He turned to Allura with her name in his eyes.

“Princess,” he said, taking her hand in his, the other drifting to her shoulder. Pidge thought she saw the tip of his finger brush Allura’s neck, so slight she might have imagined it. Allura’s hand creased his shoulder, head bent back to look up into his eyes. They glowed together, was it a blush or just the light of the crystals overhead?

“C’mon,” she whisked over to Lance, grabbing him by the elbow. She grabbed his hand, slapped it on her shoulder. Grabbed the other one and held it. Lance looked her up and down in confusion. “Stand up straight,” she snapped, and he righted himself. “Now step to the rhythm, one, two, three. Step on my foot and I break your nose.”

“Uh, yes ma’am,” he said, and together they stepped, one, two, three. It was a slower dance, a simple one. He carried it well at first, ‘til his eyes began to stray. With an irritated flash, Pidge knew where he was looking.

“Eyes on me,” she said, and his gaze snapped back to her.

“Sorry,” he said. His hand slid from her shoulder, down to her hip.

“It’s fine,” she said in a way that wasn’t fine at all.

“Are you alright?” he said, which sent a panicked flush through Pidge. She missed a step, her heel finding the top of Lance’s foot.

“Do I look upset?” she asked, trying to sound natural. Lance winced at the heel stabbed into his foot, but didn’t complain as she drew her foot back.

“A little bit, yeah,” he said.

“I’m fine,” she replied, and blushed, “Sorry I stepped on your foot.”

“Whatever you say Pigeon,” he said with a smirk, pulling her a little closer.

Her eyes flicked up to him. “Don’t call me that,” she said.

“Why not?” he asked, his hand moved to the small of her back.

“That was…it doesn’t matter, just don’t,” she said.

He nodded. “Okay, what about Katie?” he said, and her hand moved to his chest.

“Why not just Pidge?” she said, head drawn to his chest as they stepped to the thrum of the music.

“Pidge? I dunno, have you seen her around?” he asked, “Haven’t seen that smelly goblin all night.”

“Lance,” a sharp spike of anger rose in her chest as she gripped the cloth of his vest, glaring up at him.

“Katie,” he said, and he looked down at her as the music brought them to a stop. He wore a smile, a happily confused smile, cheeks burning, eyes looking like they gleamed in the gold wash of the crystals overhead, his hand upon her back and fingers laced through hers. 

And it made her heart thump and the anger melt and a blush of her own creep across her face.

“I guess that’s fine sometimes,” she said in a mumble, eyes darting away from him, her pulling away. His hands were slow to release her, and the hand she’d had on his chest slipped just as slow from the soft fabric of his double-breasted vest.

“Want to dance again?” he said, “Come on, I feel like I’m just starting to figure it out, dancing with you.”

“We’re meant to change partners,” she said, fussing at the clasp of her shawl, trying to settle the silly little flutter in her stomach.

“I don’t want to dance with anyone else,” he said, stepping forward, offering his hand

“Uh,” she looked at her feet, hands wringing each other. She looked back up. He was waiting, smiling, hand held out. The smile turned nervous. He really had a charming smile, sometimes. “Well then, yeah, okay,” she said, brushing back her hair, taking the hand.

It was a slow dance. He drew her close as the music started once more. He said something low, under his breath, the only hint the ruffle of his breath in her hair. She looked up at him, feeling a strange lump in her throat, heart thumping in her chest. His eyes were on the floor behind her, his hand was on her back. Her head came to rest against his chest.

They stepped, one, two, three, one, two, three. Her hand in his. They danced a simple little slow dance, together.


End file.
